


The Magic Boys of Midgard – A God of War story

by gmartinez12



Category: God of War (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Magic, Shota, blowjob, boy on boy smut, game accurate atmosphere, handjob, i actually did research on this, norse mthology, video games - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 04:37:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16234343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gmartinez12/pseuds/gmartinez12
Summary: Months after the events of the first game and defeating Baldur, people begin returning to their homes in Midgard. Atreus finds himself wanting to mingle with them, and perhaps find a friend that’s not a severed talking head.





	The Magic Boys of Midgard – A God of War story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Neon_Noir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neon_Noir/gifts).



**The Magic Boys of Midgard – A God of War story**

By Gmartinez

 

 

\--

 

Though the days were blanketed by nearly unceasing frost as Fimbulwinter began in earnest, the lands of the north finally entered a time of peace. And though, to those who knew, this was but the calm before the storm—before the reckoning of Ragnarok—the monsters and horrors that prowled the roads and forests had gone quiet. The draugr had stilled and returned to their unmarked graves, the trolls had retreated to the shadows of their caves, and the humans that once lived in the plains came to retake the homes they’d fled.

From the woods near his homestead, Atreus saw life returning to the land. In the months that followed after he and his father Kratos had ended the threat of the god Baldur, families started to move back in or otherwise build new homes. Every now and then he’d hear voices of men or their children whispering furtively in the woods as he hunted. And once, a girl had been riding a boat upriver, saw him, and gave him a shy wave.

While he knew that he and his father weren’t the only people that lived in those parts, even before the monsters had appeared, it always felt like they were because both of his parents saw fit to live in isolation. His father forbade any contact with anyone outside the woods near their cottage, and his mother’s protective enchantments prevented anything that wasn’t game from trespassing either way. Atreus knew now that his parents only wanted to protect the family, with their godly lineage and giant blood likely to attract unwanted attention from the gods of this realm, but still! There were people now—more of them! It couldn’t possibly hurt to talk to someone other than his father, could it?

A marketplace of sorts had been built in a stone clearing not far from the homestead a few days ago. It stood on the ruins of a giant’s old forge, and enjoyed the protections of huge vertical stone-hewn pillars and the natural terrain of the valley from any incursions by wild beasts. Atreus wanted to visit and meet the people there.

 He slung his bow—then thought better of it and slipped it off his shoulder. He can’t imagine needing a weapon when talking to other people—families—who were just visiting the market. He wore a freshly laundered teal tunic—actually a part of his armor, although he’d taken the protective plates off to make it look more casual. He donned a new wolf pelt vest that he’d skinned and made himself.

He was just about to cross the wooden fence that marked their yard when a voice boomed from behind him, causing him to flinch.

“Boy!” Kratos called out. His voice was loud, deep, and sonorous. Nowadays, though, it wasn’t angry or agitated, a change that Atreus was still not entirely used to. He sounded like he was about to say something else but was waiting for Atreus to turn around before he did.

“Yes, father?” Atreus replied glumly. He turned and sighed. He was sure his father was going to stop him from leaving and give him another lecture on the importance of staying hidden. Kratos’ face was stern like he was already preparing a heated argument.

“I thought I told you to be careful,” Kratos said, his tone imposing. “Never do anything that could put yourself in any risk.”

“Uhm, I already know that…?” Atreus replied unsteadily. He arched an eyebrow at his father. It sounded like he was being reprimanded but at the same time not directly.

Kratos approached him, the snow on the ground loudly crumpling in the wake of Kratos’ heavy boots.

 “Yet you’re leaving the house unarmed,” Kratos chided as he thrust something into Atreus’ hands. “Always be prepared everywhere you travel to, even if it’s just to the market.”

Atreus nodded slowly. So his father _did_ guess where he was going, even though he never asked for permission or talked about his plans. He stared at his hands as he recognized the heft of the blade on his palm—the knife his father had given him during their adventures.

“How did you know where I was going?” he asked, still surprised by his father’s apparent omniscience.

“You are not the first,” Kratos began, the hardness in his voice lessening, “that I’d had to warn to be careful. You are not the first to look at me with those eyes.” He slowly turned his gaze upwards, as though remembering a long-forgotten history. “This is not the first time I’d had to let my child go because I know nothing I say will change his mind.”

It was approval. His father is letting him go! Atreus couldn’t help but grin.

“Bring back something sweet. Mead, if there’s any,” Kratos ordered. He still sounded stern but the slight curl in his lips belied his tone.

 “Yes, sir!”

__

Atreus wondered what it would be like to finally mingle with a lot of people. Should he introduce himself at the gates? Would they think his clothes looked too wild? Would they notice he was a _god_? It was that last bit that scared him the most. He hadn’t met many people to accurately judge if godhood was something physically obvious, and the people he’d had met recently in his adventures with his father all seemed to have no difficulty discerning their true nature. Then again, none of these people were very human to begin with, and that list included dwarves, talking severed heads, Jormungandr, and other gods. He decided that if anyone else recognized his nature in the market, he was going to run and never go back there again. It was too risky otherwise.

It turned out that running wouldn’t have been a problem because there were no gates when he got to the marketplace. It was just an open plaza with a collection of wooden huts and stalls using leather canvases for shade. The bigger ones sported straw rooftops, chairs and tables, and a multitude of bottles, food, and baubles. People of all shapes and sizes milled around each merchant—dozens, possibly hundreds of them, men women, children, even dwarves. He needn’t worry about his clothing because he was far from the oddest garbed soul there. Some men wore nothing but furs on their equally hairy body. Women with long and glittering silks seemingly floated along, and those with dresses that dragged on the ground had servants holding up the hems lest they get soiled. Children dressed in the most colorful or colorless shirts and trousers ran around screaming and playing, and some of the youngest babes wore nothing at all.

The usual restful quiet of the woods was utterly missing, replaced by the cacophony of voices, of hawkers, shouts, giggles and songs. Atreus couldn’t even feel the cool air around him. The constant talking and the bustling activity seemed to stick to his skin like sweat. The sweet and pungent aromas of sweetmeats and fish made him miss the subtle vapors of damp bark and grass in the forest. And yet, he took it all in. He breathed in deeply and fully because today, humanity was alive with its noises and smells, running and laughter, and Atreus was almost shivering in excitement to finally be a part of that.

“You there, Boy!” a voice called out from behind.

Atreus jerked to a stop as he craned his neck to face the voice. It had belonged to an old man behind one of the bigger stalls, his wares full of colorful treats on full display. He beckoned with a wrinkled brown hand. Atreus was so unused to being called like that by any voice other than his father’s that, and his curiosity gave him no other choice other than to obey.

“You look lost, where are you parents?” asked the man.

“I’m here on my own, sir,” Atreus replied genially. The man somewhat reminded him of Mimir the talking severed head. He added the epithet out of habit.

“That won’t do,” the man said. “A child wandering alone is asking for trouble, ye are.”

“It’s okay. I’m a hunter in the woods, I can take care of myself.”

“That’s right precious isn’t it?” The man remarked. “Care for a treat?” he handed Atreus what looked like a yellow sweet potato boiled in honey stuck on a wooden stick.

“Thanks!” Atreus beamed. He’d almost bitten into it when he frowned and remembered to ask, “Wait, how much is this?”

“Keep your hacksilver, boy,” The man waved him off. “Take that as a gift. Just do remember to visit again if you need anything, and I’ll be happy to do business with ye.”

“Do you have mead?” Atreus asked.

“Anything except that,” the man laughed. “I think the kind of mead we have is too strong for young lads.” He gave Atreus a meaningful look as if to say, ‘I mean you, specifically.’

“No, no, not for me. It’s for my father,” Atreus clarified. His back was suddenly jostled by some rowdy shoppers carrying sacks but he paid them no mind.

“Ah.” The man stroked his beard. “In that case, why don’t ye head over to Elisif’s shop over there, she deals with spirits, the drinking kind,” he said, pointing at a roofed structure at the end of the main plaza bustling with burly men. “Tell her Glindower sent ye.”

“I will. Thanks Glindower!” Atreus nodded, and then headed off to where the man had pointed.

Atreus was chewing on his snack along the way and ignoring the various hips, waists, and elbows of the crowd that kept bumping into him unintentionally. He was painfully reminded of how small in stature is, and how most people here didn’t bother to recognize he was taking up actual space, hence the unintentional jostling.

“One day...” Atreus murmured. One day he’d be taller, and he wouldn’t have to put up with getting pushed around.

A sudden nagging at the back of his mind forced him to stop eating. He stopped walking altogether. One of the supposed elbows, or knees, or hips that had just hit him from behind felt odd—too hard, and intentional. Warily, Atreus pawed his pocket for his knife. A creeping dread climbed up his spine when his hands felt it wasn’t there anymore.

“My knife!” Atreus breathed angrily. Someone had stolen his knife—his father’s keepsake. How was he supposed to find the culprit in this massive crowd? Frustration welled up inside him. He turned his head left and right frantically, but all the people looked the same to him.

He could already see his father’s face bearing down on him, frosty disapproval etched in its lines…but then the thought struck him. What _would_ his father say at a time like this? From their time together, he knew that his father Kratos was more a man of action than instruction. Just like that time with the deer, when he was told to chase after it—to hunt it as he saw fit rather than ask for his father’s approval. There was no room for doubt or question. All he needed to do was _hunt_. This time, he would hunt for a thief.

Atreus ran toward one of the edges of the market past the stone pillars that marked its borders. He collected himself and remembered the sensation of when he’d lost the knife. It was a harder than normal shove, with a distinct weight and pressure, as though it were a hand rather than an elbow that had pressed against his body. He touched the side where his pocket was and replicated the feeling by pretending he was stealing from himself. The sensation was exactly the same, even with the relative smallness of his hands. The thief was a child, just like him.

He clambered on top of a nearby stone outcropping that gave him a good vantage point overlooking the whole market. As evident in his archery skills, he had keen eyes. All he needed to do was spot a child that looked suspiciously anxious, which wasn’t at all hard when nearly all the children here were either playing or running or clinging to the arms of their parents.  The thief would have looked unnaturally aloof to blend in the crowd, which was the opposite of every other child in the market. As much as possible, they’d follow the flow of people that would lead them to an exit. There, Atreus spotted his prey.

It was an olive-skinned boy with what looked like blonde braids for hair. At that distance, it was hard to make out his exact features. But his body language was clear as day—hands in his pockets, trying to look casual but looking around every now and then as though anticipating an ambush. He was walking in the middle of a group that drifted to the western rim of the relatively circular valley.

Atreus knew there was a chance his hunch was wrong, but his instincts told him otherwise. Everything about the boy he was spying on practically bled anxiety and worry. He knew in his heart—coupled with a sureness beyond his mortal senses— that the boy was the thief. He furtively returned to the marketplace and shadowed the blonde-haired boy. Now that Atreus was closer, he could discern that the boy actually had dreadlocks that reached down to the boy’s neck, and his curiosity for the unusual hairstyle made him stroke his own brown hair in wonder.

The blonde boy passed more stone obelisks that signaled the end of the market’s boundary. Here, people went their separate ways, heading off to their own villages.  The boy didn’t follow anyone, and instead turned left toward a path that led to the mountains. He was alone. It was the perfect opportunity.

The boy only had a moment’s notice before Atreus pounced on him, and it wasn’t enough time to do anything other than inhaling sharply. Atreus used his weight and momentum to throw the boy to the ground. A thud on the unyielding soil later, Atreus’ arm was restraining the boy’s neck, and his crossed legs had locked and pinned the rest of the boy’s body down.

Back then, Atreus had no idea why his father had insisted on him learning these grappling techniques. His size didn’t let him use it on any of the enemies they’d encountered, save for the times he’d hopped on the shoulders of a draugr and strangled it with his bow. But his father had said that it was an honored sport in his homeland, and now that he was actually using it, Atreus appreciated its efficiency. 

The boy gurgled out a strangled protest as he used his one free arm to tap the ground—the only thing he could do.

“Give me back my knife!” Atreus demanded. He eased on the pressure his arms were exerting on the boy’s neck enough that the boy could breathe.

“Don’t know…what you’re talking…about!” The boy heaved. His denial didn’t preclude him from struggling as much as he could against Atreus. By all accounts, he was actually a few inches taller than Atreus, and had more bulk, but Atreus had him in a solid stranglehold.

“I know you have it!” Atreus insisted. “Just give it back to me and I’ll let you go.”

“Fine!” coughed the boy.

Atreus released him and the boy rolled on the ground, hacking and retching. Atreus got to his feet and felt sorry for him, and almost thought about helping him up. But then, just as he was going to offer his hand, the boy leaped at him, the knife in his hands and a desperate look on his face.

One thing most people don’t realize about archers, or at least those trained with a bow, is how much strength it actually requires to wield and aim properly. Experienced bow users have incredibly strong arms, their muscles honed through drawing bowstrings with tensions, not unlike those of the weights that warriors trained with. Atreus was a child, yet he’d trained to use his bow religiously, first learned from his mother and then perfected through training by his father. At his father’s command, Atreus could shoot any target with relative ease and impeccable accuracy, be it a floating nightmare monster or a deranged Valkyrie.

The blonde experienced this truth firsthand when Atreus sidestepped his attack, yanked his tunic with a single hand and effortlessly slammed him hard down to the ground. The boy’s skull flared with pain as his jaw slammed shut, the vibration ringing in his head. He dropped the knife and Atreus picked it up nonchalantly, no visible signs of fatigue from having wrestled and grappled with him seconds before. And Atreus was so tiny, too. The boy was unnerved by the dissonance between Atreus’ childish stature and his prowess in combat.

“You’re no ordinary boy,” the blonde boy said as though he knew it was fact.

“And you’re no fighter,” Atreus replied as he sheathed his knife. “Sorry, but this knife is important to me. I’m not about to let anyone steal it.”

“I’m sorry I tried,” the boy said, his voice more of a groan than anything. “I made a mistake.”

“No kidding,” Atreus said, casting him a sideways glance as if to reiterate the fact that the boy was flat on the ground and he was not. He started to walk away, but then the boy’s voice stopped him cold.

“I know you’re different. You have power—there’s _magic_ in you.”

Atreus tensed. Then, a second’s thought later, he ran away as fast as he could.

“Wait!” the boy called out, but Atreus was already out of sight.

\---

The day before, Atreus had promised himself that at the first sign of trouble, if he had any inkling that an agent of Asgard was looking for him, he’d run away from the marketplace and never come back. He did run away…but for reasons he couldn’t fully explain, he couldn’t stay away. The marketplace was in a small valley surrounded by wooded hills and a path to the mountains on the west. Atreus came back the next day and perched on a cliff in one of the hills’ wooded areas. The trees were dense enough that sunlight there was quite muted, and the ledge where Atreus sat was a lone bright window into the sunlit day beyond. Below him was the market, busy and noisy as always.

He wanted to go back down there, maybe buy more treats from Glindower. He never did get to buy mead from Elisif the spirit merchant, even though he’d wanted to meet her. He didn’t tell his father that someone had recognized him, his true nature, because he knew Kratos would forbid him from ever going back. The boy hadn’t _exactly_ accused Atreus of being a god, but recognizing the power inside him was too close for comfort. And while he knew telling his father was the right thing to do, he couldn’t bring himself to take away the chance for him to go back—even though he knew it was a chance he’d never take again.

He idly watched the comings and goings of the shoppers. At that distance, their voices and conversations were murmurs in the wind, punctuated only by nearby birdsong coming from the branches above him. He spied a woman with long flowing robes, a style that he knew couldn’t have been native to the realm. She was arguing with a linen and furs shopkeeper and pointing to her palm where something was glittering—she was probably arguing over the amount of the hacksilver she’d gotten as change. Somewhere near the food stalls was a young man and a younger girl, most likely his sister, since their ebony locks of hair mirrored each other’s in every way. She ran from one stall to the next, putting various crops and fish into her older brother’s basket. She was helping him, and the brother had nothing but smiles for her radiant enthusiasm.

Atreus wanted to be there with the shoppers and merchants, and sisters and families. He wanted to know their names. He wanted to know which clothes and food they liked best, and he wanted those smiles—maybe have some of them directed at him. He ached to be part of that, to be one of them, to be so woven into the fabric of the market and its people that they’d know his name and greet him, and talk to him. He longed to be known but without fear of retribution, because these were people after all, mortals…not violent and selfish gods. It was times like this when Atreus thought he was better off not being part god at all if it meant he could live without being shackled by the fear and doubt of always being hunted.

Suddenly, a voice to his left said, “Before anything else, please don’t run away or attack me or choke me to death…again.”

 Atreus leapt to his feet in an instant, bow drawn and ready, the arrow already crackling with yellow lightning. The voice belonged to the blonde dreadlocked boy from yesterday, who had inexplicably appeared out of nowhere. There was a point of light directly in front of the boy, a glowing stone, which seemed like it was etched with a rune. And though Atreus could see the boy clearly, he felt like if he squinted even a little, the boy seemed to change his appearance from a boy into a _tree_.

“Stay back!” Atreus warned.

“Whoa, calm down, I come in peace!” The boy insisted. He held up both arms; one of his hands was open and empty while another clutched a small leather pouch tied with string.

“Is that…” Atreus ventured cautiously, “…rune magic?”

“Yes!” The blonde boy exclaimed in relief. “See? We’re both magic! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all this time! I wanted to talk to you because you’re magic, too.” He nodded at Atreus’ nocked arrow, which was still arcing with electricity. “Truce?”

“How am I sure you weren’t sent by Asgard to kill me? That you aren’t working for Thor?” Atreus asked frankly.

“Why would Thor want to kill you?” asked the boy with a raised brow.

“He’s got around three very good reasons to kill me,” Atreus replied curtly. “Are you working for Asgard or not?”    

“Definitely not,” the boy confirmed. The rune stone that was glowing in front of him dimmed and then fell, the magic in it drained. He caught it in mid-fall and placed it back into the leather pouch. His form seemed to flicker and reassert itself in some odd way. To Atreus, the image of the boy seemed like it couldn’t decide if it was a tree or a person, but once the rune had expired, it remembered it was actually a boy.

 “Like I said,” he continued.  “We’re the same in that way, too. If Asgard caught wind of me, I’d probably be dead by now.”

“Oh…” Atreus let out a tiny sigh. His bow dipped just a little.

“My name’s Yukon,” the boy said. “Illegal rune mage-in-training. Now, can I sit with you? I brought snacks.”

\---

Yukon was unusual in the same way that he was interesting. Atreus couldn’t help but scrutinize every aspect of this boy that had inexplicably thrust himself into Atreus’ life. Yukon’s olive skin glowed in the white winter sun, his nose curved sharply almost to a point. His lips were thin but distinct, and his eyebrows looked perpetually arched as though he were always curious or surprised. His ears were long, and seemed almost pointed if Atreus cocked his head sideways. Yukon’s dreadlocks caught his eye more times than he’d cared to admit, and he’d had to insist on refusing to touch it when Yukon himself offered.

“I’m sorry I stole your knife,” Yukon said. “I could sense something about you, some magic, but I couldn’t believe the magic was, well, you. So I thought you just had a magical object and that it was the knife.”

Atreus swallowed the sweet potato he’s been eating, courtesy of Yukon, and replied, “Well, it’s a special knife, I guess. It’s partly made from a metal that only comes from my father’s homeland.”

“Where’s that?”

“Far, far away,” Atreus answered evasively.

“Far…like another…realm…?” Yukon asked expectantly.

“I guess you can say that,” Atreus admitted.

Yukon looked like he was waiting for more, but Atreus wasn’t ready to reveal anymore just yet. Instead, he decided to press the newcomer with more questions. “How can you sense magic, anyway?”

Yukon shrugged. He bit into his own honey-covered sweet potato and swallowed. “I’m not sure why.  But If I had to guess, it’s because I’ve been using rune magic for so long that I just _know_ what magic feels like.

“ _Seidhr_ —magic—is like the air suddenly turning warm in your hand even though your body is cold. It’s like steam burning the space between your eyes and you can _smell_ it. I felt it from you when I passed you by in the market. Magic usually fades after using it, but your magic was pulsing, constant—like it was alive. And now I find out it _is_ alive, because it’s _you_. I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to meet someone else who can use _Seidhr_ like me. I thought I was the only one.  Always thought I’d be alone.”

“I know how that feels. Trust me.”

Atreus could feel the melancholic longing in Yukon. It was a pain and need that infected him like a bad cold, and he could see it in his head and feel the weight of it in his heart. He knew what it was like to be lonely, to want another to confide in. And perhaps it was that shared memory of unwanted solitude that made both of them so willing to sit together and listen. They sat so close together that their knees were touching. It was an oddly good sensation. It made the moment real to feel someone else there.

Atreus felt happy to have met Yukon, but also scared. He was scared that this new tiny ember of their connection was so small and fragile, that Yukon could so easily disappear and go away come the next day. It was a precious thing, something to be cupped in his hands to keep warm, something to be jealously guarded. Yukon was too good to be true and Atreus felt like it would be easily taken away, this friendship of theirs. And he knew right then that it was true, he wanted Yukon to be his _friend._

Whatever Atreus felt must not have been too different from Yukon, because both boys sat quietly for a good few minutes just staring at each other. It wasn’t awkward in the slightest. There was a wordless agreement between them that it was okay to look, to ask, to think. It was okay to revel in this moment with a fond silence. Leaves rustling in the wind marked the sound of their bond. In that instant, they formed a kinship born from a desperate want and need for a friend.

Atreus could see the sadness in Yukon’s eyes, dark as they were with glints of silver in the irises. Yukon could see the lines of the scars on Atreus’ cheek, hard-won through survival, but also telling the tale of resentment and neglect. Both of them were trying to piece together each other’s lives through quiet observation. It was an intimacy they allowed each other through honest smiles.

“The only two magic boys in Midgard, eh?” Yukon mused. He held out his hand. Atreus took it without question, their fingers intertwined without prompt.

“Can we meet here again, tomorrow?” Atreus asked hopefully.

“Of course,” Yukon nodded. “But tomorrow, you’re bringing the snacks.”

\--

The Vanir god Freyr, Lord of Summer and revered by elves, always had an honor guard of elven servants to accompany him in his travels. On the outset of the war between the Aesir and Vanir, Freyr had sent his elven host to scout Midgard and prepare for the arrival of his armies. But Odin had anticipated this and used magic unparalleled to seal Vanaheim from Midgard, trapping Freyr and stranding the scouts he had sent.

One of these elven scouts had wed a human in the years after, and to them was born a child. The scout taught what he could of rune magic to the boy, convinced that it was the only way to unlock a gateway back to Vanaheim and to the rest of their people. Yukon’s father was adamant that the _seidhr_ of runes would break the seal, for it was with stolen _seidhr_ from the elves that Odin created it. The paranoid Odin then outlawed rune magic and hoarded all of the texts about it from all the realms, adding evidence to this claim.

Yukon’s father had taken ill, and since then, Yukon was burdened with the impossible task of accomplishing his father’s most urgent mission. That he still only knew the most basic precepts of _seidhr_ was of little consequence to his father, who was a demanding taskmaster even while wrapped in three layers of blankets. Having a difficult and demanding parent was something Atreus could sympathize with quite well.

“That’s why I wanted your knife,” Yukon concluded. “I thought it was infused with magic and that I could use it somehow to make my rune magic stronger. I haven’t exactly been making a lot of progress with my magic since there’s hardly anything I can use to learn more.”

Atreus considered this as he thoughtfully bit into a piece of dried deer jerky that he’d brought for him and Yukon to eat. The boys had been meeting in the woods for more than a week now, and each time, they’d talk about anything and everything that crossed their minds. It came to a point where they were finally comfortable enough to talk about their personal circumstances in life. Atreus had told stories about his life with his father, and some of their adventures together fighting side by side. Although, he hadn’t told Yukon about his true nature as a god and as a giant. As much as he’d wanted to, he was too scared to think what Yukon might say, and was deeply scared that Yukon might leave him if he knew the truth. Worse, if Yukon knew the truth, he might be targeted by agents of Asgard.

“My father can use runes…sort of,” Atreus admitted. “He uses them with his weapons to make them more effective in battle, but I never understood how he does it. I can read runes, but just reading them doesn’t seem like it does anything too magical, except for when it apparently releases ghosts or monsters that want to kill both of us.”

“Rune magic isn’t an exact science,” Yukon smirked. “What I do know is that the stones are magic, and each rune inscribed on them has meaning. The meaning gives it power, and your mind gives it form. Remember when we first met here?”

Yukon took out a rune etched with two triangles arranged on top of each other, both pointing east. “This is the _berkanan_ rune. It speaks of trees, mostly. I used it to make myself appear like a tree.” He held the rune and closed his eyes, and then the rune began to glow and float above his palm. Yukon’s image shimmered again, making Atreus feel like he was unsure if Yukon was a handsome blonde boy or a mildly prickly shrub.

The rune dimmed and fell back to Yukon’s palm, and he was definitely a handsome boy to Atreus once more.

  
“Well, effects vary on your concentration and experience.” He shrugged. “The idea is, you have all these meanings with the runes and you kind of weave the thoughts in your head with them, as opposed to just reading them like letters.”

Yukon mimicked drawing wavy lines with his hands as he explained. “And with the more advanced levels, you can use whole words made of runes, keeping in mind each of the different meanings of each rune to do more complicated _seidhr_. Odin is said to be able to do entire stone tablets full of runes. I can almost do whole words now.”

“That’s amazing!” Atreus beamed. “I can’t even begin to imagine how you do that kind of magic.”

“Not as amazing as you…” Yukon said softly, his cheeks reddening slightly. “You’re a warrior, you fight draugr and monsters, and you, all of you, is magic. It’s not runes….it’s you.”

“You make me sound better than I am,” Atreus said as he looked away. It felt suddenly too overwhelming to look into Yukon’s eyes right then.

Yukon took out all of the rune stones and cupped them in his hand. Then he reached out and offered them to Atreus. Atreus hesitantly accepted as Yukon poured the stones into his palm. Yukon then held his hands as though to support him in case he accidentally drops one of the runes. The sudden heat of Yukon’s skin on his own flustered Atreus greatly. He wondered if Yukon’s skin was naturally warm, and it was just now that he’d noticed. He was noticing a lot of things about Yukon lately.

Yukon was more interested in the runes in Atreus’ hand, though. All of them began to glow a faint blue, a soft gentle light that felt warmer to Atreus than even Yukon’s skin.

“See?” Yukon said. “ _You_ are magic. In fact…” Yukon picked up three of the runes. They were glowing brighter than the rest, but the light was more of a soft red than blue. One of them was a vertical line with two short diagonal strokes on its upper right side pointing south-east, the other was an arrow pointing upwards. The last was a vertical line with a triangle in its middle pointing to the right.

“Yukon?” Atreus asked anxiously. Yukon was frowning, and his expression darkened. “What’s wrong?”

Yukon closed his eyes, letting the runes’ meaning and magic flow through him.  Then, he said in a low voice, “These runes are _Ansuz_ , _Teiwaz_ , and _Thurisaz_ …Atreus, these speak of you as…a god born of _war_. A god-son of _jotunn_.” He let the runes fall to the ground as he fell on his haunches in shock. “Atreus, you’re a _god_!”

“Yukon, wait, I can…” Atreus pleaded. The runes dropped to the ground as he tried to reach for Yukon but the look on the other boy’s face froze Atreus on the spot.

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” Yukon said in a manner that almost sounded like he was accusing Atreus. “That’s why you’re magic, why you’re so powerful…why your father can use runes without even thinking of it. He’s a god too, but neither Aesir nor Vanir…and that’s also why Thor is out to get you, like you said…it’s because you have giant blood.”

“I…” Atreus began to say, but he choked up as his eyes stung with tears. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t get you involved by telling you. It’s too dangerous. We can’t ever meet again.” He sprang to his feet and ran.

“Wait, Atreus!” Yukon shouted, but Atreus was intent on running away and paid him no heed.

Atreus ran as fast as he could, hopping over thick outstretched roots and rocks, trying to get away from the cliff, from Yukon, and from the companionship he knew he could never hope to have. This was for Yukon’s safety, he kept telling himself. It was safer this way. It was better this way. He had to believe it. He _had_ to.

Just then he heard a strong rush of wind racing through the trees behind him. Leaves were blown off branches and swirled in the gale around him, as though the sky were raining leaves. Then he felt it— _power_. It was like a song that rang in his head and thrummed in his bones. It melted and flowed in his muscles and filled his eyes and his ears and his mouth. He heard a voice that seemed like it was everywhere at once, a desperate boyish voice that said simply, “ _Wunjo.”_

Atreus felt that thing inside him, that sensation of power, soften, settle, and calm. Then he saw sunlight. His mind stared at the beams of light, and his heart leapt at the welcoming heat although his eyes saw only clouds. He stopped running and stood still, basking in the whirlwind of emotions that welled up in him. He _saw_ warmth. He _heard_ smiles. He _tasted_ hope. He _touched_ happiness. And then he saw his own face, laughing and smiling, he was holding his hands and it felt so right, because he was seeing through Yukon’s eyes. This was what he was to Yukon—sunshine, warmth, happiness, and joy, and a sense of wholeness. He wasn’t alone anymore.

A few minutes later, Yukon had caught up to Atreus, panting slightly from the effort of running, or more likely, the effort of casting that spell. Atreus had by then settled down, leaning on the trunk of a large birch tree. Atreus looked up, his face lit up in abject awe.

“You cast rune magic,” Atreus said in wonder, because the feeling that swept over him couldn’t have been anything other than that. “I felt…your thoughts. I felt _you._ ”

“ _Wunjo_ ,” Yukon nodded as he breathed in and out to steady himself. “The rune of joy. I wanted you to feel my joy Atreus. I wanted you to know how much I treasured you as my friend. That must have been the most powerful spell I’ve ever cast if it actually reached you since you were already far away. I only wanted you to know what I felt so that…well, if you did decide to leave, at least you knew.”

What was left unsaid was that Atreus could’ve chosen to ignore the spell and continued running, and yet he’d chosen not to.

“I’m sorry I ran,” Atreus apologized. “But…just like you said, we’re an enemy of the Aesir. If you know about my father and me, then it’ll be dangerous for you, too. I want to keep you safe.”

“Why?” Yukon asked.

“Because I don’t want you to get hurt! You’re my friend!” Atreus exclaimed.

“Then it’s too late to run away from me, isn’t it?” Yukon said. He came closer until he was standing right in front of Atreus. He was slightly taller, possibly two summers older than Atreus at most, but his eyes were level with the smaller boy. “We’re already friends.”

The truth of it struck Atreus like one of his own arrows. The danger would come, it always did and always will. But they were friends. Nothing, not even Ragnarok, could change that.

 “Yeah…” Atreus finally agreed. “We’re friends. The only magic boys in Midgard, right?”

“But now…together.” Yukon smiled. Then, with a more pensive expression, he whispered, “Atreus, is it okay if I befriend a god?”

Atreus _tasted_ the meaning behind the words. He felt the tiny flames in the words licking at the edge of his mind and a tiny shiver blossomed from the pit of his stomach. He almost couldn’t stand to look at Yukon for more than a few moments because right then, the taller boy’s face was more pure, and earnest, and handsome than he had ever seen. Atreus wanted to touch it. Yukon looked like he wanted to do the same to him, too. Yukon was asking for permission. Whatever he asked, Atreus would gladly permit.

“I’m not a god, not to you,” Atreus replied softly. “I’m just a boy...who found a friend.”

Yukon nodded, and then placed a gentle hand on Atreus’ cheek. Atreus kept it there with his own hand, basking in the rightness of their skin pressed together. Yukon’s palm gently slid down Atreus’ face, carefully at that, and then let his fingers trail down the younger boy’s neck.

 Finally, he leaned in and placed his lips on Atreus’ cheek.

Yukon lingered there, unmoving. He exhaled softly, letting the heat of his breath wash over Atreus’ skin. With a single gesture, he’d expressed his greatest joys, his greatest fears, his strongest desires, and his highest hopes. All it took was a kiss. It was a gift of everything Yukon was, and Atreus accepted it.

“Was that okay?” Yukon asked anxiously.

“Yeah, it felt…really nice,” Atreus grinned.

“Can I do it some more?”

“I think I want you to.”

Yukon took out a rune, and when it glowed and hovered above them, it spread a soothing heat that dissipated the winter chill. It was just the perfect temperature to match the fire that was spreading inside both of them, an incessant and constant want for _more_ —more of something. More of each other.

Yukon kissed Atreus’ forehead. He lingered there and then kissed his nose. He lingered there once more, if only to steady the rapid beating of his heart. Then he proceeded to kiss each of Atreus’ cheeks again, but this time the kisses lasted longer. They felt hotter. He pressed his lips up against Atreus’ skin even more, until his lips could feel the vibration of Atreus’ breathing. Each breath gave life to this boy that had filled a deep ache inside him, and he so wanted to share in that life, to breathe in the same second, to breathe in the same heartbeat.

For his part, Atreus felt an irrational desire to feel Yukon with his hands. He wanted to trace lines on Yukon’s skin and wrap him in his arms in a tight embrace. He wanted to nuzzle his cheeks onto Yukon’s chest and feel the rhythm of his breathing, and lay there, just lay there as his hands roamed all over his friend’s skin. His touch reassured himself with each second of that contact that Yukon was real, and Yukon was his, that Yukon was here, and that he wanted this.

Atreus started by rubbing his palm on Yukon’s lean chest, gently spreading his fingers and moving in a circular manner. He wanted more, though. Yukon was still wearing his grey tunic, and all Atreus could feel was its coarse fabric. Wordlessly, he tugged at Yukon’s tunic upwards, and the older boy understood immediately. Yukon raised his arms and let Atreus take his top off, exposing his bare chest. Yukon did the same and removed Atreus’ fur vest and shirt. They both stood naked from the waist up, the rune’s glow casting a reddish tint to their bodies.

Atreus resumed satisfying his hunger for touch and rubbed circles on Yukon’s skin. For some irrational reason, he was pleased by how his friend would shudder whenever his palm grazed Yukon’s nipples. Yukon took this as an invitation to imitate. His hands roamed around Atreus’ chest, still very much a child’s with barely any definition. Yukon’ rubbed Atreus’ back with one hand and his belly on the other. He rubbed and caressed until he got lower, and lower, until his hand was on Atreus’ crotch. It was already quite tented.

Here was a god, who had the body of an innocent boy, and the shape of a child, who was as sensitive and vulnerable as any mortal when touched between his legs. It was this truth that somehow fuelled the burning inside Yukon. It burned so much that he didn’t put much thought into his next move. He was simply moving on instinct as he put his hand inside Atreus’ trousers and felt the boy’s hardness with the skin of his fingers.

Atreus closed his eyes, and for the first time in his life, he whimpered. It was a tiny sound that seemed to please Yukon as he redoubled his efforts to play with Atreus’ boyhood with faster and firmer fingers. Somehow, with their frenzied groping, Yukon was able to unfasten Atreus’ trousers to fully expose his arousal. Yukon’s touch was electric, the friction of his fingers against the sensitive skin of Atreus’ penis felt like arcing bolts of explosive lightning that sent shivers throughout the younger boy’s body.

With his mind suddenly finding it difficult to concentrate because of the utterly new and explosive sparks in his groin, Atreus held on to a single thought—retribution. His hands went straight for Yukon’s crotch, and he frantically undid the buttons until Yukon’s whole member was out in the open. Atreus grasped it almost feverishly, and the feel of it struck both Atreus and Yukon so much that they stopped and froze, each other’s hands still on each other’s sex.

For both of them, the sensation was as novel and peculiar as it was shockingly pleasant. Both the pulsing young rods in their hands were a conundrum. They were just starting to puzzle over how such a small thing could have a soft pulsing heat, have such a defined shape and yet feel silky smooth, and be firmly rigid while still being gently pliable. Yukon’s was slightly larger, and yet both felt so hot and _alive_. And of course, there was the thought that took precedence above all else—this felt very, _very_ good.  

They took that moment to savor the sensation, both wanting to feel more of the pleasure on themselves, and wanting to return the pleasure in turn. The boys gazed into each other’s eyes, Atreus with his pale blue and Yukon with his glinting black. Both had so many questions and just as many promises, and it was perhaps the way that they looked at each other, more than anything else that they’d do that day, that sealed their fates together.

“Yukon, what are we doing?” Atreus asked weakly. It wasn’t a protest, but rather a desire to give a name to an act that he knew he would want to do again. He still held in his hand Yukon’s swollen member, with his thumb idly rubbing the loose skin at the tip.

“I…I don’t know what to call it,” Yukon conceded. “I guess in a way, we’re playing with each other, aren’t we? Since it feels nice…”

“Have you ever done this before?”  Atreus asked. He rested his head on the crook of Yukon’s shoulder.

“No,” Yukon replied softly. “Not like this. Not with someone else.”

“I like it,” Atreus said with a satisfied smile.

 “Does that mean we can keep doing it?” Yukon asked, his voice mellow and husky.  He punctuated the request by lightly stroking Atreus’ boyhood.

“You don’t need to ask.”

While Atreus had the peak of his sensuality in his fingers and the skin of his palms, Yukon had his on his lips, and on his tongue. He would often wonder how it was that magic always seemed to him a taste—a flavor—more than any sensation that he could describe. And so it was with Atreus, the most magical being he had ever witnessed, there was a taste that he so desperately wanted to consume.

Yukon began with Atreus’ face, kissing the boy’s cheek once more, and dragging his lips slowly until it touched the edge of Atreus’ mouth. There he supped on the heat of Atreus’ breath, and there was a taste to it that Yukon desired. Their lips touched briefly, and Yukon’s spine tingled from the excitement. All the while, Atreus kept stroking Yukon’s member in slow, leisurely strokes, and he rewarded the effort by making it twitch in appreciation every now and then.

Next was Atreus’ chest. Yukon kissed it reverently as he knelt in front of Atreus. He kissed lower until he was at Atreus’ bellybutton, and the boy couldn’t help but giggle. It seemed Atreus was a little ticklish when kissed there, and it was a fact Yukon won’t soon forget.

Denied the chance to caress Yukon’s penis, Atreus had settled on petting and stroking Yukon’s blonde dreadlocks. This he did for two reasons: the first being that he’d really wanted to feel the texture of the locks, and the second being that he used his hands to steady himself, because Yukon was staring quite intently on his tumescent boyhood, and Yukon’s warm breath was washing over it and making Atreus’ stomach fold in over itself in anticipation for some unknown need for release. 

A question formed in Yukon’s mind. If Atreus felt good while being fondled, and Yukon felt most aroused when his lips were touching Atreus’ body…what then would happen if he used his lips to pleasure Atreus’ penis? Surely combining the two facts would feel good to them both. With that thought settled, Yukon opened his mouth and placed it over the head of Atreus’ hardness. He felt Atreus shiver and heard the boy’s breath escape him. Atreus’ hands were on the sides of his head now, a silent plea to stay there and continue whatever it was that he was doing.

Yukon let Atreus slip out of his mouth with a moist _shlick_ and kissed the tip. The flavor there was better, more distinct, richer…and he _adored_ it. He kissed it again, but then followed up by licking it once, then twice, then putting it back in his mouth. There, Yukon was beside himself with glee as he freely licked around the head over and over again in the warm confines of his mouth.

Atreus was moaning in a low voice. He couldn’t seem to keep his breathing steady. Whatever Yukon was doing to his penis felt incredible, it was impossible, and it was _intense_. It took all of Atreus’ strength to keep his knees from buckling.  Yukon’s mouth was a blazing furnace, the heat was wet and inviting—a fire that ignited the senses instead of skin. Nothing else was more important in Atreus’ mind than getting more. He _needed_ more. His hands were already gripping the sides of Yukon’s head so he only needed to pull just a little, and Yukon understood—he took all of Atreus’ length in his mouth.

Young as he was, Yukon wasn’t at all versed in the act he was so fervently performing. Yet, everything felt natural, and everything they did made sense to him. It seemed perfectly reasonable to him to take in all of Atreus’ shaft until he was kissing the skin of Atreus’ groin. It seemed normal for Yukon to tuck his teeth behind his lips.  It helped that as much as Atreus was enjoying Yukon’s mouth, Yukon was gaining just as much delight in the feeling of Atreus in his mouth, and feeling how his tongue would collide and grind with the sensitive skin.

Atreus’ size wasn’t too overbearing—it felt the same as the length and width of Yukon’s own middle finger. The mass of it was a perfect fit in his mouth. And while before, he was kissing the tip and licking the head, taking it all in led him to do the natural next step—without really knowing how he knew, Yukon _sucked_ on it and lavished it with his tongue. He bobbed his head on Atreus’ member, reasoning that his mouth should do what his hand had been earlier. He pursed his lips, tightening the grip like how his fingers would, and made sure Atreus could feel his rod slipping it in and out inch by pleasurable inch.

Atreus felt something inside him building up. It was a feeling, that blazed into sensation, that erupted into a need. His head felt light and his body seemed ready to deal a final act born of desire. His mind’s eye saw a mountain, and every time Yukon sucked him he was blown upwards towards the highest peak, and then…he was there. Atreus’ eyes snapped open as he hit a plane of extreme pleasure that he’d never known existed. For a single shining moment, he was hovering over the peak, above, beyond, _more_.  And then he fell, and his body expressed the rush of the nearly instantaneous drop with an explosive climax. His hands gripped Yukon tighter as his frenzied penis twitched angrily, once, twice, thrice, and then subsided to a weak thrum, until finally settling and softening on the bed of Yukon’s tongue. 

Yukon knew that Atreus was building up to an end. His friend’s increasingly erratic body language said as much. He couldn’t even remember when he’d started stroking his own hardness in the midst of sucking Atreus, but his hand had kept pace with his mouth as Atreus entered the final throes of his passion. He knew the moment had happened when Atreus threw his head back and gripped his head tighter than he’d had before. Atreus’ shaft twitched angrily in his mouth and then he tasted something new. For a boy whose mouth was as sensitive as his sex, the new flavor was absolutely intoxicating—it was the taste of Atreus’s meager watery seed. Yukon gladly sucked it all and nursed the throbbing member until it was calm. The experience of Atreus’ climax in his mouth was enough to arouse Yukon so that he stroked himself vigorously to his own intense finish, the evidence of it peppering the ground with milky white droplets.

Time briefly lost its meaning as both boys, exhausted yet satisfied beyond belief, found themselves sitting together with their backs against the tree without remembering ever getting there. They laid with each other for what seemed like hours—shoulders touching, bare legs splayed in front of them, just listening to each other breathing. Atreus put his hand on top of Yukon’s. Yukon squeezed it tightly.

“I’ve seen a lot of stuff before,” Atreus said dreamily, his eyes closed. “Dragons that breathe lightning, Gods fighting, realms just full of treasure…but nothing was as amazing as what we just did.”

“You’re telling me,” Yukon grinned lazily. “I’ve lived most of my life doing magic but this right here is more magical than the Aesir themselves. It’s just… _amazing._ ”

“I never knew being friends felt this good,” Atreus mused.

“Maybe you haven’t met a lot of magic boys, then,” Yukon giggled.

“I guess I like magic boys after all,” Atreus said with a sincere smile.

“Magic boys,” Yukon repeated. “Now, and forever.” He gave Atreus a light peck on the cheek.

\--

“With your daily disappearances to the market lately, I would’ve expected that you’d buy something…interesting,” Kratos grumbled. He was nursing a mug of melted snow water and was quite obviously hurting for a stronger drink.

“Sorry, father,” Atreus said sheepishly as he closed the door behind him.

“Did something attack you?” Kratos asked, his brows furrowing. His eyes roamed over Atreus’ disheveled clothes and messy hair.

“No, I was just at the market and I made a friend.”

“And what is this friend like?” Kratos asked, his tone more amiable.

“He’s…magical.”

 

\--

 

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, I am so proud and happy to have finished this fic. I loved God of War and Atreus to death! I played that game so much cuz of my little cute sweet BOI!! Lol. I'm just really glad I got this prompt as an excuse to finally make a fic of Atreus, and also it let me flex my writing chops, with all the detailed research I'd had to do for the fic. I hope you enjoy! And yeah, I got the pic myself in-game :D
> 
>  
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> Oh and if you got a moment, and maybe some spare change, please consider showing your support by donating a coffee for $3 at my page:
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> **ko-fi.com/gmartineztheficwriter.**
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> If you really enjoy my fics (and I really hope you do) and kudos and comments aren't enough to express how hyped you are, ko-fi donations are a great way to show your love, too XD. It helps me pay my credit card bills and really motivates me to keep on providing content. And if I get any extra? I might even commission damijon art we can all enjoy. I'll keep writing stories for free don't worry, I love the super sons so much that all I want is to share the fandom with you guys. But yeah, if you like, ko-fi donations are super cool too :3
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